Burn Them All
by Queen Alysanne
Summary: Lyanna Stark's twin sister, Lyra, has been brought to the capital with her father to free Brandon from the Mad King before the start of Robert's Rebellion. Upon the death of both her father and brother, Lyra is a captive in the Red Keep with only her unlikely companion, Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, to shield her from the cruelty of Aerys Targaryen. JaimeXOC
1. Chapter 1

Jamie's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword nervously. They had been in the throne room too long waiting and Aerys was growing more restless with each passing moment, even the idiot pyromancer, Rossart, that Aerys had made Hand could feel it in the air. Everyone was tense, from high lords and ladies and knights to the servants and squires. They knew what was to come. The king was the only one in a high mood today, perhaps anxious for the bloodshed to come, and was gripping the arms of the Iron Throne so hard that blood was running out between his fingers. The fool had cut himself twice already today on the damnable chair, but had hardly noticed that he was bleeding like a stuck pig. He rarely seemed to even feel the barbs that sliced him anymore, his arms so covered in scabs and dried blood that a new scratch went unseen more often than not.

Jamie's nerves reached their peak when the Lord of Winterfell was dragged into the throne room. He had been ambushed at the city gates, Jaime knew, lured to the capital by the arrest of his son. He was bound hand and foot, bleeding from a head wound at the top of his forehead, the blood trickling down into his eyes. His long, solemn face was closed, his grey eyes showing no emotion as he was dragged before the king. Aerys grinned down at Lord Rickard from atop his throne, looking all the world like a gargoyle.

"Stark. I hope you have heard the treason your son has committed. Would you like to see him? A father should see his son before he dies." Aerys barked for the Stark prisoner to the brought in, sending a group of guards scurrying for the door behind the throne.

Within moments, Brandon Stark was produced, shackled as his father had been, and forced to the floor beside Lord Rickard. His hair and clothes were filthy from his time in the Black Cells and his left eye was swollen shut from a blow he had taken when he had first come to the city three days ago. He walked like he had several broken ribs.

He had been so absorbed in watching Brandon be dragged across the hall that he hadn't noticed the girl at first. She had come in behind her father, unbound, with only a single guard holding her arm to keep her from running. Jaime understood why. She was clearly weak, the fine bones in her face stuck out sharply, dark circles marred the skin under her dark, haunting eyes. She was crying silently, too scared to make a sound, and Jaime saw that even her weakness had not spared her from the guard's cruelty. A dark bruise was already blossoming on her cheek and her lip was split open. If she had not been so gaunt, she would have been the exact copy of the girl Rhaegar had given the crown of winter roses to, the other Stark girl, Lyanna.

"I assume you know why I've brought you here, yes?" Aerys' voice broke Jaime's assessment of the girl.

Neither Stark man spoke, merely stared at the king with eyes filled with venom. The girl sobbed once before falling silent again.

"You are here to answer for the treason of your son, Stark. He threatened the crown prince, my heir. He deserves death for the insults he has said of my house. One cannot be permitted to insult the dragon! I am your king and you will answer me! Speak or I will have your tongues!" The king hissed through his tangled beard and yellowed teeth.

The hall was quiet as a tomb for long moments before the Lord Rickard spoke.

"You are no king of mine." He said, so softly that everyone in the hall had to strain to hear him.

"Then you will feel the dragon's flame! You will burn like an animal on a spit! Burn him!" The king screeched, pointing a claw-like finger at Lord Rickard.

The guards around the two men moved faster than Jaime thought possible, as if they knew what the king had wanted before he had even said it. Brandon fought so hard as his father was forced to his feet that half a dozen guard had to fight to hold him down. Lord Rickard did not struggle as he was forced into a suite of armor, but his cold eyes never left the king. The girl screamed aloud, a wordless cry that wrenched at Jaime's heart so strongly that he had to fight the urge to race across the marble and shield her from what was about to happen. He didn't understand why. The girl meant nothing to him. He didn't even know her name.

"You sister fucking son of a whore! I'll kill you myself! Give me a sword and I'll open you from balls to brains! I'll show you what is to suffer for what your fucking son has done to my sister!" Brandon bellowed from the floor.

"You will be the one who suffers. It is a death sentence to threaten the king, but I will not touch you, no," Aerys leaned forward on the throne, leering. "I'll let you kill yourself."

As wood for a fire was being placed around where Lord Rickard had been bound in his armor and hung a foot from the ground by a rope looped around a beam in the ceiling, Brandon was tied to a wall with a length of wet leather strung around his neck. A long sword was placed just out of his reach.

"If you can grasp the sword, you can save your father. If not, he will roast alive," The king cackled like a madman. "Bring the wildfire." The idiot pyromancer scuttled past Jaime to the same door from which Brandon had been brought, returning quickly with a rough clay jar in the shape of an apple. "The substance" was what the pyromancers called the green liquid that the jar held, but the rest of the realm knew it simply as wildfire.

Rossart broke the jar over the wood at Lord Rickard's feet. The green flames flared up immediately, kissing the dry wood like an incessant lover. Brandon, whom been struggling against the wet leather well before the flames began, threw himself against his bonds. His face reddened as the leather tightened around his throat, as Jaime knew it would. Aerys liked games that he couldn't be bested at.

The flames shot up in a green spire that licked up the left side of Lord Rickard's armor, leaving a black smudge on the steel. To his credit, the Lord of Winterfell did not scream for those first few seconds. The fire beneath him was gaining momentum, though, and soon the suite of armor had begun to shake as Lord Rickard tried in vain to free himself. The cry of pure agony that escaped from the armor seemed to tear the air in two. Brandon was cursing the king and Rhaegar and anyone else he could name with what he was unaware was his dying breaths as he continued to struggle to reach the long sword. The lords and ladies were too well bred to stare, averting their eyes to the floor instead, but the lower born gaped openly, expressions of horror and terror playing in equal parts across their faces. The laughter of the king, Lord Rickard's screams, and Brandon's curses were the only sounds that could be heard.

Lord Rickard's armor had turned an angry, bright red in places and white near his feet where the flames burned hottest. The cry ceased to have any variation, becoming one long wail that pierced Jaime's brain like a hot knife. He breathed through his mouth as the scent of burning flesh and hair reached him at the foot of the dais where the ugly, Iron Throne squatted. The girl, who had been submissive since her arrival yanked her arm away from her captor and bolted straight for her father. Straight for the wildfire.

Jaime was halfway across the hall before he even realized he had moved. He caught her around the waist, jerking her back from the inferno a moment before the hem of her dress brushed the green blaze. She struggled feebly against him as he dragged her away, but gave up quickly and let herself be led away from the driving heat. She fell back against his chest, burying her face in her hands, shaking as sobs wracked her body. Sweat ran down the back of Jaime's neck, but for a moment he was glad of his helm, despite the heat. If he hadn't had it, everyone in the hall would have seen just how terrified he was. He couldn't stop himself from imagining his own father burning, or his sister, or even Tyrion.

The flames under Lord Rickard burned for another hour, but his screams and Brandon curses stopped long before then. Brandon's face was black and all that remained of Rickard was the smell of burnt flesh.

"Cut them down and hang them from the battlements to show the realm how the dragon deals with traitors," Aerys shouted before turning his eyes on Jaime and the Stark girl. "I see you've found yourself a lady love, Ser Jaime. What is your name, Wolf Girl?"

"Lyra, Your Grace." The girl said quietly, her eyes trained on her feet.

"This wolf seems to know some manners. You look like the girl my son stole. Tell me, do all Stark women look the same? If they do, I might think to steal one for myself." The king grinned at her lecherously through his yellow teeth and Jaime felt himself bristle as the court laughed weakly. Aerys had trained his followers well.

"Lyanna is my twin sister, Your Grace." Lyra replied, still looking at her feet.

"Does it shame you that my son chose your sister over you? She is prettier, I must admit now that I see you more closely. But it seems that Ser Jaime has taken a liking to you. Very well. Ser Jaime can have my son's leavings. She is your ward now, Lannister, see to it that you don't despoil her. My son might want her after he's done with her sister and he prefers to do his own despoiling." Aerys cackled and the court laughed with him, louder now.

Jaime, who had not realized his hand still rested on Lyra's back, dropped his arm. He felt his face grow hot with a heat that had nothing to do with the smoldering wildfire. He cursed himself for not letting the idiot girl kill herself. Anything was better than the king's taunts.

"You can be her maid. Would your father like that, do you think? What would the proud Lord Tywin make of his eldest son taking care of a Stark girl? Find her a chamber, Maid Jaime, before I burn her like I burned her sire." The court laughed loudest at this and the louder they laughed, the safer they were.


	2. Chapter 2

They were halfway up the spiral staircase when Lyra slumped against the rough stone wall, her breath coming hard despite the short climb. Her face had drained of what little color it had had, making the dark bruise stand out sharply against her alabaster skin. Jaime extended a hand to her and, wordlessly, she accepted it. She was odd, this Stark girl. Cersei would have spit at him and told him to go fuck himself, she would have cursed the king and threatened to claw out his eyes with her nails. And, he reflected, Cersei would have died. But this girl had done none of that and he doubted she ever would.

She dropped his hand at the top of the stairs and followed him along the corridor to the apartments a steward had told him were fit to live in. Jaime unlocked the door and gave it a rough shove, ushering her inside before kicking it closed with the heel of his boot. The room was well furnished with a writing desk, two chairs around a small table by a window, a sideboard with several choice wines and cheeses, a cherry wood vanity with matching bench and wardrobe, and a huge feather bed with carved vines winding around each of its four posters to twine together on the head and foot boards. A door to the privy could be seen behind a heavy red curtain that had been half pinned back to the wall. Jaime removed his helm, but did not make any other efforts to make himself comfortable.

Lyra crossed the room, the sound of her feet muffled by the thick Myrish carpets that covered the floor, and closed each of the four windows lining the walls behind their latticework shutters. Once they were closed, the room became dark and close and only then did she permit herself a goblet of Arbor gold from the supply at the sideboard. She took several long swallows and refilled her glass before addressing him.

"Was I believable, Ser Jaime?" She asked, turning her head slightly to face him.

"My lady?"

"Don't play the fool, ser. You are many things, but you are not an idiot. My lungs may be weak, but they are not so poorly that I find myself incapable of climbing a flight of stairs. However, anyone that might have been watching would think me feeble and anyone watching me in the throne room would have thought me meek, tractable. Hardly a threat, wouldn't you say?" She smiled wryly into her wine cup, her puffy eyes and pale skin making her look halfway into her grave.

"You were very convincing, my lady." He had to admit it, she had even made him think her weak, perhaps even slow of mind, which she clearly was not.

"The longer I present no threat to king, the longer I will live. I will be tormented and pestered, yes, but I will live. I have seen how he thinks. He eliminates the strong first, to make himself seem all the stronger because of it, but the weak he leaves to toy with. He finds it amusing, isn't that so, ser?"

"Yes, my lady." Jaime had seen it many times himself.

"You love him no more than I, do you not? Otherwise, you would not have pulled me away from the fire."

Jaime was taken aback. Since she had started speaking, he had assumed that everything in the throne room had been an act.

"My moment of weakness," She said when she saw his confusion. "My father had told me before we even reached the capital that he was not going to come out alive, but that if I put my mind to good use, I could be spared. He told me that he was doomed, along with Brandon, but that he was damned if he was going to let me die as well. He told me to play the coward. But hearing him scream, I thought about what my life would be without him, what I would have to become to survive in this nest of vipers and all I wanted to do was burn with him."

She fell back into one of the chairs around the small table and buried her face in her hands. Jaime didn't know what to do, nor what was expected of him, so he merely stood awkwardly by the foot of the bed and took great interest in studying the patterns in the carpet.

"You're probably wonder why I'm telling you all of this, aren't you?" She asked after a while, her head still in her hands.

"Yes, my lady."

"Please stop calling me 'my lady', I'm just Lyra. I'm telling you all of this because you're stuck in a position similar to mine and the only way we're going to make it out alive is if we trust each other. We're both hostages, in essence, forcing our families to act with hesitance. I'm planning on being the best behaved hostage the king has ever seen, so that when he lets his guard down, I can bury a knife so far into his skull they'll have to bury him with it. Which is, I assume, the same thing you've been planning, whether you've been aware of it or not. We both need allies and there's no better ally than one who would gladly kill the same person."

She lifted her head up and looked him squarely in the eyes, as if daring him to tell her she was wrong.

"How do you know that I won't run to the king with all of this?"

"If your loyalty lies with a man who takes every chance he can to slight you and your family, then you're more of a fool than I could have ever thought possible."

Their eyes met for a long moments as they each assessed the other from across the room.

"Help me out of this armor." Jaime said, breaking eye contact as he pulled off a mailed glove.

Lyra crossed the floor, her skirts swishing around her ankles, and unclasped the hinges that held his breast and backplates together. Up close he could smell the scent of pine on her hair that had been masked in the throne room by the smoke. It made him think of rushing rivers of icy water and forests of rich, dark earth.

"So you've decided it's safe to disrobe in my presence, have you?" She chided as she gathered up bits of discarded plate from the carpet.

"You hardly appear menacing."

She gave a bark of laughter that reminded him of a summer storm; short and harsh and over too soon.

"I would like to inform you that I am never unarmed, especially in the company of men."

How different she is from Cersei, Jaime thought dryly. Cersei would have used any interest a man showed in her to get what she wanted and would weep when accused of manipulation. Many a serving boy and page had been whipped for falling for her. She had always told him in a fit of tears after that she had felt nothing for these boys, that she had never let them touch her and that he would be the only one she ever truly loved. When he had taken her maidenhead two years ago, he had believed her, but even after that she hadn't ceased her games.

By the time Jaime had gotten all his armor off and his sword sharpened, as he did every day, the sun had sunk below the horizon and Lyra had had to light every candle in the room in order for them to see more than a foot in front of them.

"Why don't you open the windows? There's still some light left in the sky." Jaime said when she had started to make her way around the room lighting wicks.

"Varys has his little birds everywhere and the less they know of what goes on in this room the better." She looked at him with an arched eyebrow like it should have been obvious to him.

Jaime cursed himself for even asking. For whatever reason, he wanted to impress this Stark girl and he was never going to do so if he kept asking foolish questions. He cared about this girl's opinion, damn her, when he didn't care about the opinions of anyone in this stinking city.

"Shall I go find us something decent to eat?" He asked in an attempt to smooth over his naivety.

"You don't really have to wait on me, Jaime," Her brows knitted together in concern. "You're a knight. I wouldn't make you fetch for me."

"We should learn to play our roles well. You wanted our compliance to mask our deceit and what better time to start than right now?"

Lyra grinned wickedly.

"I think you and I are going to get along just fine."


	3. Chapter 3

When Jaime's eyes opened, it was the hour of the wolf and total darkness enveloped the room. There was a warmth pressed against him and an uncomfortable ache in his groin. He could smell pine. They had fallen asleep on opposite ends of the bed, he had been sure of it, but at some point in the night they had gravitated towards each other. Lyra's back was against his chest, one of his arms pillowing her head as she slept, while his right hand had drifted down to rest on her hip.

She pushed herself closer to him, mumbling in her sleep, and he nearly groaned aloud in agony. He pulled his hand away and rolled as far away from her as he could without moving his arm and waking her. He could only imagine what she would do if she woke and found him hard as an iron rod. Or what he would do, for that matter. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to think about something else. She's not Cersei, he told himself, she can't hold a candle to her beauty and I don't want her.

Fucking Cersei was like fighting a battle, someone always won and someone always lost. It was anger and pain and lust. It filled Cersei with life, flushing her cheeks and making her even more beautiful than before, but it made Jaime feel empty and sad. Every time they fucked he knew that he would never be able to have her, but she could have him anytime she wanted. She was the winner and he was the loser.

He wondered, almost against his will, what it would be like to fuck Lyra. No, he thought, fuck was an angry word. He and Cersei fucked and it felt like bloodshed. He couldn't picture feeling the same way about Lyra. He couldn't imagine biting her so hard that he left teeth marks that lasted for days, he couldn't imagine throwing her up against a wall and shoving her skirts up to her hips, he couldn't imagine pushing himself inside her like he hated her. Lyra had a sweetness to her despite her shrewd nature and blunt words, a sweetness that Cersei had never had, even with him.

Don't think about her like that, Lannister, he cautioned himself, if you start thinking about her like that she'll crawl up into your brain and mess with your head and you'll be no use to anyone. This isn't a story. You're not a knight in shining armor and she isn't a damsel in distress. She's trying to kill a king for fuck's sake, she's not exactly a girl to be daydreaming about.

"Then why do you want to impress her so desperately when you've spent your whole life convincing yourself that you don't care about impressing anyone?" Part of him murmured.

"Because she's bloody brilliant, you twat. It's rare to find a girl who's interested in something other than needlework in this stinking city. And if I didn't impress her, she'd probably stick a knife in my eye and have a plausible story thought up before I hit the ground." Another part shot back.

His eyes had begun to burn, making him realize just how tired he was. He couldn't stay up arguing with himself all night. Gently, he lifted his arm out from under her head and rolled over so that he was facing away from her. No sooner had he settled down then he felt her warmth press against his back.

* * *

The morning dawned cold and grey. Jaime sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily, glad that the windows had been shuttered the night before, if only because they kept the chill air out for the better part. Lyra was not yet awake, so he padded across the floor as quietly as he could to light a fire in the grate. Someone had left wood and flint, for which he was grateful as he crouched shivering by the fireplace. He struck the two stones together, sending sparks on the first try, and the dry tinder flared up immediately. One thing spending time as a squire had taught him was how to build a decent fire.

As he made his way to the sideboard for a glass of wine, the covers over Lyra shifted and her head poked up over the quilts as she propped herself up on her elbows to stare groggily around the room. Her hair was a tangled mess, the bruise on her cheek was nearly black, and her lip had swollen to a sickly purple where it had been split. Jaime felt himself grimace.

"That bad, am I?" She mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eye with the palm of her hand.

"You should see a maester."

"It'll fade in a few days," She shrugged. "Besides, it helps with the disguise."

Jaime snorted and reflected on what he had thought last night. This girl really was bloody brilliant.

"Anything I can get for you to break your fast?"

"I'm perfectly capable of finding the kitchens by myself, ser." She replied wryly.

"Do you really want to go down there looking like you got into a fist fight with the Mountain?"

"Fine. But I'll not have you scurrying off after my every need. Mint tea, if you please, and porridge with honey."

"That's more like it."

When he returned with a tray laden with food in hand, he found her at the small table with her hair already brushed and a robe two sizes too big for her pulled loosely around her. She had opened the window over the table and was gazing out across the city with eyes filled with sadness. Her chin rested on her fist.

"Do you grieve, my lady? I can wait outside if you wish." He asked as he set the tray down in front of her.

"No, ser, I do not grieve. There will be time enough for that when the man who killed my father and brother is dead in the ground. I want my sister back. I want to see Ned and Ben again. I just want to go home."

Jaime knew that feeling well. Not a day went by that he didn't miss the Rock or sparring in the yard with the other squires or laying with Cersei in the quiet of the godswood. He hated this festering cesspool of a city, along with everyone in it. They were all talk and whispers and intrigue, none of them ever doing anything. Enemies were smoke who killed with secrets. It frustrated Jaime not to have someone solid to fight, battling with shadows was exhausting and pointless.

Lyra lifted the cup to her lips, breathing the scent of mint in deeply through her nose. She smiled euphorically, her sadness breaking as she took the first sip, but when she brought the cup back down to the table a red stream ran down to her chin from her split lip. A drop of blood fell into the tea before she realized what had happened.

"Fantastic," She said sarcastically. "Now it's ruined."

Jaime reached across the span of the table between them and pressed the cloth that had been draped over the porridge to her lip almost against his will. She looked at him curiously as he dabbed at her lip.

"Don't be silly. The men of the Night's Watch drink horse blood when they're out ranging for months on end and their water supply runs out. You won't hear them complain of it." He said, trying to make his actions seem more natural when they were anything but.

"Remind me to never join the Watch, then." She said with a rueful snort, still eyeing him with an unidentifiable expression.

What was it about this girl that made him act without thinking? It wasn't as though he thought about his actions much, anyway, but this was ridiculous. She had made him save her life, become her personal guard, fetch her meals, and tend her wounds without even saying a word. She hadn't needed to. Jaime's infatuation with her had beat her to it.

"I'm not infatuated with her." Part of him objected.

"Then don't jump up like a lapdog every time she needs something." Another part countered.

"Ser? You look...uncomfortable." Lyra's voice broke into his thoughts jarringly.

"I'm fine, my lady," He lied. "I was just thinking again that it might be best to bring you to Maester Pycelle."

"Please don't call me 'my lady'. My name is Lyra. 'My lady' makes people expect an old woman."

"My name is Jaime. 'Ser' makes people expect a hero."

Lyra smiled sadly at that.

"How can one person know so little about themselves?"


	4. Chapter 4

It was midday before anyone disturbed their chambers. Lyra was relaxing in a chair with a book about Princess Nymeria's crossing of the Narrow Sea to Dorne while Jaime paced the floor anxiously, having already sharpened his sword and polished his armor until it shone. She glanced up at him every few minutes in exasperation for the better part of half an hour before finally chastising him.

"Jaime, will you please find something to occupy yourself with? You're making me dizzy walking in circles like that."

"What would you like me to do? Take up needlework? I can't stand being in this closet a moment longer. I should be down training in the yard like a real knight, not stuck up here."

He realized his mistake when she raised an eyebrow at him in a way that made him feel absurdly guilty.

"Lyra, I didn't mean-" He began, before a knock at the door cut across his words.

Jaime tensed immediately, his eyes locking with hers as he silently asked her whether to open the door or not. She gave the smallest of nods and Jaime turned around hesitantly, sliding the bolt out of place.

The man without was dressed head to toe in Targaryen crimson and black, marking him as one of the king's household guards. Jaime couldn't make out his features, but the man's flat, dead eyes could be seen from the slits in his helm. His thin mouth was twisted in an unpleasant grin that filled Jaime with foreboding.

"The presence of Maid Jaime has been required by King Aerys. He asks that you get permission from Lady Stark before leaving your duties unattended." The guard's grin widened, revealing teeth stained by sourleaf.

Jaime eyed the impudent guard with a measured stare for a long moment before turning wordlessly from him to look at Lyra. She seemed to have shrunk in the seconds since he had turned his back on her. She had curled herself up in the chair she was sitting, tucking her legs up underneath her and retreating back into the oversized robe she wore to make herself look smaller and more bruise and the split lip did make her appear weaker, he had to admit.

"You have my permission." She said meekly, her voice almost a whisper, before dropping her eyes to where her hands were folded in her lap. The guard was peering around Jaime to leer at Lyra with obvious arousal and Jaime had to fight not to break the man's nose.

Jaime strapped on his sword belt and retrieved his helm from where he had left it the night before, trying in vain to catch Lyra's eye again, but she kept her gaze down. He wanted to will her to bolt the door behind him, to barricade herself inside, and not make a sound until he returned. She knows that, you idiot, he told himself, she's no adle-brained maiden who would let herself be dragged off to her death because she was too stupid to lock the door.

In a last desperate attempt to communicate with her, he quickly tapped twice and then once more a second after on the edge of the side board. Hopefully, if she was as clever as he thought she was, she'd know that when she heard that knock, it would be him returning. He saw her give an almost imperceptible nod out of the corner of his eye as he crossed the chamber to the guard and swung the door shut behind him. He allowed himself some relief when he heard the bolt slid back into place.

"So, what does the mighty Jaime Lannister think of waiting on the Stark bitch?" The guard sneered.

"Quite dull," Jaime faked a bored yawn. "She's a cowardly one, barely anything interesting about her at all. I can't imagine why the king would want to keep her."

"What was interesting about her, then? Her sweet Northern twat or her tight little arse? Is she a screamer, Ser Jaime? She doesn't look like a screamer, but it's always the quiet ones that surprise you." The man laughed in a way that made Jaime's skin crawl.

"I would hardly seek to break my vows for a sickly wolf bitch." Jaime had to force himself not to grit his teeth. Talking like this about Lyra made bile rise in his throat.

"She's more comely than half the whores in King's Landing put together. I wouldn't mind bending her over and hearing her scream as I broke her in. I haven't ever had a maiden before and I bet that bloody sheet would look like a victory." He laughed again and Jaime felt his hand clench into a fist as he fought not to break every tooth in the man's mouth.

By the time they had climbed the spiral staircase that lead to the king's chambers, Jaime had heard every way the guard wanted to have Lyra and his anger was reaching the boiling point. The man only stopped talking when they reached the chamber door, knocking to alert the king of their arrival. There was a raspy response that sounded something like "Enter" and the guard opened the door with a shove. Both Jaime and the guard bowed low once they were over the threshold.

The king was taking his lunch with his Hand, Rossart, looming behind him when the two entered. A whole roast chicken, carrots, potatoes, and turnips swimming in a pool of drippings sat in front of him half eaten, but no cutlery could be seen. The king was devouring his meal with long, yellow, cracked fingernails. Aerys allowed no blades in his presence save those of his household guard and the Kingsguard. He didn't even trust his servants to bring him his meals without stealing a carving knife and stabbing him with it.

"How are you enjoying your new position as handmaiden, Ser Jaime?" The king smiled greasily at him. Behind him, Rossart let out a simpering laugh.

Jaime had to resist the urge to sigh. He had known the japes were coming the moment the guard had spoken to him, but he had been hoping that they wouldn't begin so soon. Aerys looked pleased with himself already, as if he'd told one of the wittiest jokes ever heard.

"Well enough, Your Grace." Jaime replied simply.

"I've sent a raven to your lord father to let him know of your promotion. I assume he'll be most pleased to know that his son is cleaning out the chamber pot of Lord Rickard's sickly daughter," Aerys cackled, spewing food into his unshorn beard. "She's quite the delicate beauty, isn't she? I've heard several of my guards talking about her. I know you can be trusted not to lay a hand on our little hostage, but I don't think they can. It would be a shame if any of them were to despoil such a lovely creature, would it not? I can't imagine they would be very gentle to her, her pretty white flesh would be covered with bruises when they were done with her."

The king peered at Jaime over his food through slitted eyes, waiting for him to say something. Jaime stared at a place just above Aerys' head, his fingernails biting into the skin of his palm even through his gloves. His teeth were clenched so hard that he feared they might shatter, but his face remained a mask. The king lurched forward suddenly, fixing Jaime with his bloodshot eyes.

"Would it hurt you to find her ravaged body after my men were done raping her? Would you weep at the blood pouring off her thighs or would you take a turn yourself?"

"I couldn't tell you, Your Grace." Jaime knew exactly what he would do, but it would be treason to threaten the king.

"You may find out before long. My men know where she is and you are but one man, easily overpowered. They will force themselves inside her and make you watch as she screams in agony." Aerys laughter sent chills up Jaime's spine and made him want to throw up.

"Was there something you needed of me, Your Grace?" He asked, willing himself not to be sick as the anxiety to get back to Lyra mounted.

The king stopped laughing immediately and glared at Jaime in fury.

"I brought you here to let you know of the peril you lady love is in, you insolent wretch. My eyes are will be on her every day and every night and I will find a way to hurt her. My men could be with her even now, taking their pleasure of her while you stand here too stupid to understand a threat when it stares you in the face. Run back to your lady now, Ser Jaime, and know that I will be watching every move the two of you make."

The king waved a hand in dismissal and Jaime bowed low again before turning and exiting the chamber. Outside, Jaime nearly collided with the guard who had escorted him. The man grabbed his arm and dragged Jaime so close to him that he could smell the stench of sour wine on his breath.

"When the king gives the word, I'll be the first one to have your little Stark bitch. I want to break her and watch the blood run down her legs." He licked his sourleaf stained lips as he hissed in Jaime's ear.

Jaime said nothing, wrenching his arm out of the guard's grasp and descending the spiral stair as slowly as he possibly could. He willed himself to remember what Lyra had been stressing about not giving anything away in this nest of snakes as he fought the urge to run. He tried to appear disconcerted as he walked back to the chambers he shared with Lyra, dreading that he would find her mutilated when he returned. Every step was agony as his entire body told him to race back to her as quickly as his legs could carry him.

If you run, they will know. They will know and they will kill her if she's not dead already. The only thing keeping her alive is your ability to act as if nothing bothers you, as if you don't care if she dies or not, part of him whispered. It was this thought that kept him from ruining everything and bolting. It was this thought that forced him to walk every step back to their chambers, whether he wanted to or not.

The door was still firmly in place when Jaime reached it. He knocked twice rapidly and again after a heartbeat, hoping that she would open it. The heavy oak swung inward after what felt like an eternity, but could have only been several seconds. Jaime let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

Her eyes were the darkest grey he'd ever seen, so dark they were almost black. They were big and framed with thick, black lashes that fanned her high cheekbones. They looked like the eyes of some shy woodland animal that would flee at the slightest sound. Her dress of soft grey velvet matched her eyes perfectly and made them seem even bigger. Her lips were full and pink, reminding him of spring wildflowers. A strand of her wavy dark brown hair had fallen across her forehead.

"Jaime? Are you alright," She whispered. "Come inside before someone sees us."

She hurriedly shut the door behind him and whirled around to fix him with a fearful expression.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost. Tell me what the king wanted, please, I've been a nervous wreck since you left." She brushed the strand of hair back with a long-fingered hand. Her dark eyebrows were knitted together in concern.

"He threatened me. He threatened to have his men rape you." He spoke like someone in a trance.

Lyra was taken aback, her lips parting in confusion.

"But why would he threaten you in such a way? Surely, threatening your family would frighten you more than threatening me. Unless he did it to test your loyalty? Yes, that could be it. By threatening me and gauging your reaction, he could see how strong your loyalty still is to him. You must have been convincing, otherwise we'd both be heads on spikes by now." She wasn't talking to him anymore, merely thinking aloud to herself.

"Lyra," He said suddenly, gripping her shoulders with a fierce intensity that shocked both of them. "He doesn't care about my loyalty, he's thought me a traitor since the moment he draped the white cloak around my shoulders. He's looking for a way to hurt me. My family is too far away, so he's settling for you. He was testing me today, yes, but he was testing my feelings for you. I told him I didn't care about you and that's the only reason you're alive now. If I had given away how I feel about you-"

"And how do you feel about me?" Her voice was hushed, her eyes never leaving his.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever met and if I had let on, he would have killed you. He's only keeping you alive so he can play with my head." He released her shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"We just have to be careful. You have to act with indifference about me, and I you, or our plan will be ruined before it even begins." She rested a hand on his arm and looked up at him with her warm grey eyes.

He looked down at her and felt himself coming undone. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her close and tell her that she'd always be safe, that he'd never let anyone hurt her. He wanted to hear her laugh, feel her skin under his fingers, see her hair flash in the sun. He wanted to tell her he loved her and hear her say it back. He wanted her in ways he had never wanted Cersei and that scared him more than any of Aerys' threats ever would.


End file.
